Morningbird
by Cls2011
Summary: Life moves on day by day, but there is a day where they remember and learn. Mary and George visit Matthew on Father's Day.


**A/N:** _I do not own Downton Abbey or its characters blah blah. This is something that ran through my head today and after some encouragement I wrote it. The title is the name of a song by Forest Sun (go listen to it)! I hope you enjoy this (as much as you can)._

Her eyes snapped open in the pale early morning light as they now often did. A bird was singing from somewhere outside. She used to think the nights were the worst. She would dream of him then, of his arms around her holding her tightly against him. She would feel his warmth and the tickle of his breath along the back of her neck that would stir small wisps of her hair. It had not taken her long to realize that it was the mornings that were the worst. At least at night she had her dreams and she was with him again, she could see him holding their son at the hospital, and the look of adoration on his face as he stared at her and then at their child. She would feel his lips on hers. But, in the mornings she would awake expecting to turn over and find him beside her, only to realize that the place behind her was empty and devoid of any warmth. The realistic dreams from the night would shatter around her, casting her back into hell. She always awoke early these days; she used to prefer to sleep. He had been the early riser, and always in such a cheerful mood. Sometimes it was a dream waking her, sometimes it was a little voice inside of her telling her to get up and compose herself so that she could brave the day, but mostly it was because of her, no, their son. He needed her and she needed him (more than he would ever know).

It was June, the third Sunday of June to be precise. Father's Day. Those two words and what they represented threatened to break her; she wouldn't let that happen though. She had plans for today, and she would carry them out. She heard the sound of a familiar cry drift down the hall way, interrupting the bird's song and her thoughts. Rising from her bed was easy and difficult at the same time when it came to the person responsible for the cry. Slipping her robe and shoes on she made her way to the nursery. Her footsteps were muffled by the thick carpet, the only thing that announced her arrival was the sound the doorknob made when she turned it. The nanny had entered the room at the same time. She shook her head to dismiss the woman, she would see to their son. Walking over to the crib she could see the blonde hair that covered his head, the red scrunched up face that had tears streaming down from brown eyes identical to her own, his arms and legs pin-wheeling as he cried. As her face appeared over the edge of the crib, his arms reached for her. She lifted him and brought his warm welcome weight against her. He curled into her, calming almost instantly. She swayed with him in her arms, humming a tune to a non-existent song as his hands played in the braid of her hair.

She wasn't sure how much time had passed or when he had finally fallen back asleep. She only knew the deep contentment of him trusting her enough to fall asleep as she held him. Placing a kiss on his downy head she laid him back down to enjoy the blissful land of nod. Knocking on the door to the nanny's room, she waited for it to open. When it did she asked that the other woman make sure that her charge was dressed to go outside as soon as breakfast ended.

Breakfast was a bittersweet affair. She knew she wasn't the only one struggling with the day; there was one other who knew her pain just as well. One who would never be able to tell his late wife, her sister "Happy Mother's Day" and he would never hear her say "Happy Father's Day." They were the two sides of the coin, bonded by love and loss. As breakfast reached its end, she made her way back to the nursery. It was time to take her son to visit his father. She double checked her handbag to make sure she had the two items she required, they were there. Taking her son from the nanny's arms and dismissing her until after luncheon she made her way back down the stairs, and outside into the warm sunlight. She headed for the church, the baby repeating "Mama" over and over in her ear. She had hoped that he would be saying "Papa" by now, she had been practicing with him over the last few weeks.

The cemetery was empty of visitors when they arrived, but, then again, it wasn't as if she would have noticed anyone else. She walked down the main path and then veered off to the right. His headstone was at the end framed by a halo of gold from the summer sun. The weight in her chest threatened to crush her. Deep breaths, she told herself, deep breaths. You're a storm braver. She could do this; they could do this, she and their son would do this.

Reaching his headstone, she sat down on the warm grass. She settled the baby in her lap and,as if realizing that this was a solemn place, he had quieted and stared at her with a questioning look. How hard it was to believe that this would be his first Father's Day with his "Dearest Little Chap." Pushing the thought that fate was cruel from her mind, she began to tell their son about his father. How much he understood she wasn't sure, but when she pulled out the picture of his father, the one she had prayed over so long ago from her bag she was sure he knew what she was saying. Her fingers shook as she handed him the picture, his tiny hands were gentle as he held it. He brought it close to his face and then turned his head and looked at her as if to say "Is this who you tell me I remind you of?"

She next handed him the tiny stuffed dog that had seen so many battles and was now a little worse for wear. You must bring it back, without a scratch. She watched as his fingers touched the ears and squeezed the stuffed body, the look on his face one of complete absorption in the new toy. She continued to tell him tale after tale all the way up to the last time the three of them had been together at the hospital. She made sure to have his complete attention as she let him know that his father loved him and how much he had looked forward to meeting him. She let him know that he would have been his father's world.

As they prepared to leave she allowed her hand to trace over her beloved's name, "Happy Father's Day," she whispered. A little hand reached out and landed on the top of hers, "Papa" the little voice said, and wouldn't stop. That was the best gift their son could have ever given him. He would have been so proud. Telling him it was time to go she lifted him back up and handed him the little dog, which he grasped with excited and eager hands. As they walked back the way they had come she could hear a bird singing from somewhere in the trees.

**A/N: **_As always read and review. Thank you (as always) to my wonderful friend and support system for all things writing Oiseaus, who puts up with my rants, late night messages, and plot lines._


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